


A Nice Neighborhood to Have Bad Habits In

by artefact_storage, j_quadrifrons



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Asexual Character, Elias in love, Femme Fatale, Honeypot, Jon in a slinky dress, M/M, Noir AU, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, adoring manipulative husbands, just the sappiest celebratory sex you ever did see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artefact_storage/pseuds/artefact_storage, https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_quadrifrons/pseuds/j_quadrifrons
Summary: Elias receives a ransom note, sighs, and goes to collect his husband.--A snippet of a story from a Noir-flavored AU tentatively referred to as the City of Nightmares; imagine the various Powers as gangs vying for control of the City. Takes place before the main narrative, which is forthcoming.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 13
Kudos: 161





	A Nice Neighborhood to Have Bad Habits In

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to the Discord crew for building & encouraging this AU, which will continue to sustain me throughout these trying times. 
> 
> Title from Raymond Chandler

Elias goes alone and unarmed, just as he'd been told, to the quiet suburban address where the anonymous note had assured him all manner of horrible fates await if he disobeyed its instructions. Of course, he is rather used to being the horrible fate that awaits someone else, and by comparison the threats he's received are downright amateurish. He can't bring himself to be terribly concerned. Besides, even if he carries no additional weapons, it would be optimistic at best to describe Elias Bouchard as "unarmed."

A church member wearing a heavy silver pendant greets him solemnly at the door, ignoring Elias's polite smile and pointing him at a steep, dark staircase leading into the basement. He doesn't bother to cover a disdainful snort. Rayner's people have always had a taste for the melodramatic, but this is taking things a bit too far. There's a perfectly serviceable living room on the main floor.

He descends the stairs slowly; there's confidence and then there's walking headfirst into an ambush, even one you know is waiting for you. There is no one waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, though, just a sharp corner that leads him into a basement that seems much too large to fit under the house it belongs to. Although the walls and floors are bare concrete, there has been some attempt at decoration. On his side of the room is a small patch of carpet holding up a desk and a lamp that casts more shadows than light. On the far end, nearly lost in the gloom, are half a dozen cult members, none of whom Elias recognizes although he's quite sure he knows all their names, and his husband.

Jon moves behind the leader as Elias comes into view, a move that does nothing to disguise his presence: even without the way the scant light in the basement catches on the spangles of his gown, he's radiant in a way the cultists of the Dark must abhor. Jon doesn't meet his eyes, but Elias drinks in the sight of him before he even considers paying any attention to his hosts. If he's been hurt at all, he isn't showing it, and Elias cherishes the surge of pride and affection growing in his chest.

The leader is already talking, apparently not noticing Elias's lack of attention; he puts his hands in his pockets and waits, unconcerned. He thinks he's been asked a question, but it honestly isn't worth the effort to try to identify it at this stage. Far better, really, to let them talk themselves into a corner and save himself the trouble.

The cultists are beginning to look nervous, uncomfortable at Elias's refusal to play his part in the drama, but the penny doesn't begin to drop until Jon leaves the gang and walks calmly across the room to Elias's side, bringing the balance of the odds from fifteen to one down to fifteen to two, which is still fairly embarrassing for them. Jon takes his time crossing the no man's land of the cavernous space, his jewel-red gown shimmering enticingly around his ankles, only occasionally slipping wide enough to show the slit up the thigh. He tucks his arm into Elias's when he reaches him, an ostentatious gesture that has Elias fighting to keep down a smile until he eventually decides to let it out, smug and self-satisfied.

"I'm sorry," he says politely, as if he hadn't heard their previous threats at all. "I'm afraid I didn't follow all the details; what _exactly_ were you going to do that would threaten my position in this city?"

They go fairly quietly after that, more's the pity; Elias wouldn't have minded making an example out of a few more of Rayner's odious cultists. But Jon doesn't like it when things get messy, so he settles for leaving them with some reasonably unforgettable nightmares and letting the officers take care of the rest. It grates to just hand his enemies over to the Hunters like that, almost entirely intact, but right now he has other things to keep his attention.

"Well played, Mr. Bouchard," he murmurs in his husband's ear once the last of the cultists have been led out and the two of them have been left alone in the basement that's been passing for a safehouse.

"Thank you, Mr. Bouchard," Jon answers with a cheeky grin. "Although they were barely worth the effort. If this is the best Rayner can manage, I don't know what you're worried about."

Elias wraps one arm around his husband's waist, the other trailing down his hip to slide beneath the slit of his gown. "It never does to ignore a threat, no matter how petty," he says, backing Jon up against the desk until he's arching up against the pain of it digging into his back. "One never knows when a petty fool might happen to make friends with an intelligent one." He gives up on teasing, then, capturing Jon's mouth in a harsh kiss and grasping him by the thigh, hoisting him up onto the desk.

Jon gasps and writhes when he lands on the hard surface, and although he is always beautifully responsive to being manhandled, that seems a little dramatic. Elias slides both hands up under the gown, over bare skin and the tempting swell of Jon's arse, and when he dips his fingers down he can feel the hard edge of a metal plug, smooth and warm from the heat of his body. He bites down gently on Jon's throat, earning him another delightful gasp.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd have to work that hard to convince them you were on their side," Elias purrs, pressing down on the end of the plug to make him moan.

Jon blushes all the way to his graying temples but he twines his arms around Elias's neck and murmurs softly in his ear, "I was expecting you."

Heat rushes through him and Elias buries his face in his husband's throat for a moment, breathing in the smell of him and the warm, lithe body in his arms and the way Jon's hands are clenched in his shirt. It's been two days and he's never missed anyone so much. "Well then," he says when he's sure his voice is steady, "I wouldn't dream of leaving you waiting any longer."

Jon's legs are already locked around Elias's thighs and it's torture to wrench himself free, even if he knows it'll get them closer to what they both want; when Jon tugs himself closer, grinding their cocks together through too many layers of fabric, Elias takes a handful of his hair and _twists_ and Jon shudders, going limp in his arms. He takes the opportunity to put his lovely husband face-down on the desk, twisting one arm roughly behind his back just to feel him struggle to break free of it. Jon's never happier than when he's fighting Elias when he knows he can't win, and it's a peculiarity Elias is all too happy to indulge.

That shining silk skirt looks lovely rucked up around Jon's waist, but Elias takes no time to appreciate the view, sliding the plug free with only the slightest resistance and sinking in deep before Jon even has the chance to protest the loss. The way he moans Elias's name has his hips jerking involuntarily, as if he could get any deeper if he wanted it badly enough. And oh, he _wants_. Elias leans down to press a kiss to the back of Jon's neck, lacing the fingers of their free hands together, and begins to move inside him.

The noises Jon makes are intoxicating, desperate panting whimpers and moans that echo deliciously through the empty basement as Elias fucks him over the desk. _Not quite in the blood of our enemies, but it will do for now._ He punctuates one sharp thrust with a bite to the back of his neck and Jon cries out wordlessly.

" _Two days,_ " Elias hisses in his ear, and Jon clenches down on him hard, shuddering and arching up into him. "How long is it been since you've been two days out of my bed? And all I could think about was you on your knees for that pathetic excuse for a conspirator." He doesn't need to ask if it was true; it's always been difficult for him to see through the Dark's protections, but now that Jon is here he can see it all through his eyes: the leader's glee barely disguised as sympathy when Jon came to them, offering information in exchange for protection; the sympathy for this poor victimized creature so easily turned callous and crude when Jon batted his eyelashes and hesitantly offered his gratitude. "You're spectacular," he breathes, grinding his hips down hard when Jon thrashes because he knows how Jon reacts to praise. "You're _mine._ "

"Yours, yes, Elias, yours, god _please._ " Jon is nearly sobbing and he must be in some pain, pressed hard into the desk with Elias preventing him from gaining any leverage at all, but he clutches Elias's hand so tightly and arches into him and from the places where their minds connect Elias can read nothing but pure happiness and ecstatic desperation. He lets go of Jon's arm twisted between them and Jon doesn't move it, just clutches at the front of Elias's once-crisp shirt to keep him close.

Jon doesn't last long when Elias takes him in hand at last, and Elias lets his orgasm carry him over the edge as well. They lay panting across the desk, Elias's forehead resting between Jon's shoulderblades, for some unknowable length of time until Elias can feel discomfort beginning to creep in around the edges of hazy pleasure in Jon's mind, and he carefully pulls away.

When he sits up Jon's face is a mess, eyeliner streaked down his face in tear tracks, but he seems not to notice at all, smiling up at Elias in such a haze of pure affection he can't resist reeling him in for another kiss. This one is soft and slow, exploratory, as Elias strokes his fingertips over every bruise he left that will blossom under Jon's lovely skin by the morning, when he'll have to catalogue them all again.

Elias would be happy to stay there the rest of the night, his husband in his arms, but Jon brushes at his skirts with a grimace. "There's another dress ruined," he says sardonically, and Elias laughs and brushes a kiss over his temple.

"I'll buy you three more."

Jon smirks at him, almost part of the role, though he still has that soft, fond look in his eyes. "That's hardly motivation for you to stop ruining my clothes," he says, tucking himself up firmly against Elias's side.

"I never said that it was." He kisses Jon's hair again, just to hear him make that sleepy contented sound he has when he's feeling safe. "Come on, let's get you home."

"Home." Jon hums happily. "Yes, please."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Let it be a tragedy of love and glory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995058) by [RavenXavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier)




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